Only Talia Will Tell
by stephpv
Summary: Losely based off of The Princess Diaries, this book focuses on 15-year-old sophomore Talia as she deals with conflicts involving her friends, family, and herself.
1. September 3

September 3: 1:17 pm, in the car

Destiny has spoken to me once more, and has brought to me a journal in which I can say anything I want and write everything I please. Why didn't I think of this before? I am a writer, after all. And writers are observant creatures by nature. Now, instead of talking to myself or venting to my dog, Olli, I have this wonderful stack of bound paper that will never leave or forsake me. Or laugh at my stupidity. Or tell me I'm wrong. I feel so womanly and empowered.

But really, in all honesty, I just think that my uneventful life would sound much more interesting if it was all written down. So I must open my first entry with my fancy disclaimer: This is the truth, the real candid truth about my life and all my deepest insecurities, ambitions, and innermost desires. In the event that I die prematurely, I give Steven Spielberg permission to adapt my diary for film. Please be sure to cast Emma Watson as the leading role, and make sure that my many romantic suitors physically favor Ryan Reynolds and Robert Schwartzman.

Thank you whatever higher power that possessed me to make my way to the stationary section of WalMart ten minutes ago.

This time, I will actually use this journal like I say I will. Yeah, in the past I've started journals before and forgot about them a month later, but my past does not define me. And this time, I really will use it to the fullest extent because I'm setting a goal for myself. I will take this journal with me wherever I go, and I will make time to write in it. I must, I must. I've already plastered the sticky notes all over the wall so I can't forget. Plus all this extra writing I'm doing will help me in writing my stories, most specifically my novel-in-progress about a girl who survives a plane crash and has to survive on a desert island until she is found. I'm still irritated that my plot sounds an awful lot like Blue Lagoon, you know, the 80s movie starring Brooke Shields. I swear, I hadn't even heard of that movie until a few days ago when I saw the preview for it on Hallmark. Boy, was I maddddd. And since then, I've been fiercely editing the story. I also refuse to watch the movie until I am mid-publishing, when no one can say anything. Or I won't hear them over the sound of my best seller.

The timing of my discovery was absolutely genius (to me, anyway) because tomorrow is my first day of sophomore year. And I don't know whether I'm excited or whether I'm... Not. I haven't really changed this summer, except I discovered my hair's Holy Grail. Now I don't have to rock the poof as much as I have for basically all my life. My hair is wavy-curly now, and actually lays flat-ish. I like it, but I didn't think it was as big of a deal as everyone made it seem. My mom was borderline ecstatic when I walked out of the salon. I'm sure she didn't mean to, but it sort of forced me to wonder if my previous hair was really so terrible? I know it wasn't the sleekest or the shiniest, but she made it out to be this life-changing event. Like face reconstructive surgery. I was just happy I could actually brush my hair without destroying it. The brush, I mean. My mom wasn't the only seemingly relieved one, either. I was almost convinced my neighbor was going to faint when we got back to the apartment. Even my dad raised an eyebrow when he saw it, and he only does that when he's really surprised. Jeez, it was only a keratin treatment. We'll see how "beautiful" it is in three months when it wears off and the frizz is back.

Taking it one day at a time.

Elaine hasn't seen it yet, though. I sort of think I should tell her in advance, because the last thing I'll need is for her to make a scene first thing at school tomorrow. She is not the quiet type, and she can easily make herself heard. The first day back is far too early for stuff like that.

To prepare myself mentally (and physically) for tomorrow, my mom and I have spent the day looking for last minute school supplies. You know, the stuff they suggest you buy that you know you won't use. (Case in point: tell me why last year on the list of recommended school supplies for freshman Algebra, a protractor was on the list? I'm not the mathematician of the family, that's my mom, but I thought Algebra I focused on the basics, like setting up equations and finding missing variables. And even after gently reminding my mother of that, she insisted that we find the best protractor this side of the state. I used that protractor all of one time, and that was only because it had a built-in circle stencil.)

Now we're off to Target, trying to find one of those cool zip up binders, making sure to find one in the most attractive shade of yellow. Druneston is a school of "prestige", so anything remotely attractive is deemed a "distraction to a student, hindering his or her academic progress," hence the yellow binder. I can't believe it's an actual requirement. If you ask me, yellow is the least discreet color out there. If this was an issue of distraction, we would have more subtle colors, like, I don't know, burgundy or navy. Even our uniforms are black with yellow accents. We don't look like tigers, we look like wasps. C'est super.

Mom asks me if I'm seriously bringing this book into the store. Of course I am. I've read The Princess Diaries a whopping total of seven times, and if it worked for Mia, it works for me. Besides, writing while walking must be great for stimulating brain activity. No Alzheimer's for moi.

Note to self: when walking in major areas of a store, it is time to close the book and look up. The running away from the stand of what once was boxed jewelry tactic can only work so many times.

I found a zip up binder, the last one in stock. It's not yellow (because _no one_ makes yellow binders. Ever), it's black. Mom sighs and tells me we need to try another store, but not without suggesting that I just buy a normal, three-ring plastic binder that we just found. I can't have a plastic binder. Where's the zipper? It's definitely not thick enough to store all my assignments in it. Not one to pass up an artistic opportunity, I take the black binder and make my way to hardware. Yellow spray paint? Yesyesyes.

Let it be known that I am a firm believer in DIY. And it is not, mom, unreasonable to buy a black binder and spray paint it yellow. I think it's quite cool, actually.

"But what isn't" Mom starts, "is that journal of yours. Put it away before someone thinks you took it."

No, I will not put it away. Freedom of speech and freedom of press. I can write whatever, however, whenever I choose. Our forefathers did not die on the front line so I could pass up a chance to stick it to the man. Woman. After all, this is America. Mom just looks at me, tired and desperate. I put the book away, deciding that now is the time to be selfless and think about my mother's inevitable aging and the added stress I'm putting on her body. But really, I'm putting it away because she's still holding the binder, and my mom has a certain quality about her that scares me when she gets irritated.

But this is not the end… I'll be back later.


	2. September 3, My Bedroom

September 3: 5:24 pm, in my bedroom

This journal thing is really interesting. I'm getting the knack of it, and it's only been a few hours. I feel like someone actually cares about my life, even though I'm the only one reading it.

After senseless babbling on the importance on not stunting my creativity, I am only fifteen, mind you, and after educating my mother on the dangers of pollution emitted from our very non-economically friendly car, I convinced Mom to save a trip to OfficeMax to look for another binder and just let me spray paint the one we found. That did not put her in a good mood, to say the least. It's alright, though, because I made the mashed potatoes for dinner. She can't stay mad at me for too long. The best news is: operation yellow binder was a success. Now I just have to get the stains off of my fingers.

My first-day-of-school-is-tomorrow nerves are beginning to set in. Sophomore year is supposed to be the year, at least according to Degrassi. But unlike a normal teenager going to a normal school, my outermost appearance is heavily limited because of the wonderful, equalizing uniforms that I hate. They are so ugly, you have no idea. They offer no room for flattery, that's for sure. My already not-very-developed chest looks even less so, and my non-existent butt has never looked flatter. But, I do have some hope. Even when Degrassi had uniforms, Clare and Alli still looked super cute. And they got boyfriends. Then again, Clare and Alli are super gorgeous. Aren't all Canadian girls super pretty? Seriously.

Unfortunately, Druneston is not in Canada, so my hopes of having such an eventful and breezy school year are nil. I don't want to screw anything up, that's for sure. The first day is the most important, of course. It's the day when everyone assesses your personal growth over the last three months, i.e., who got taller, tanner, hotter, and who didn't receive the memo. I for one, seemed to have grown a full two inches (!), so now I'm a statuesque five-foot-ten. My feet have also grown and have maximized at a glamorous size 10 and a half. 10 and a half! What attractive, normal sized teenage girl has size ten and a half feet?! I mean there's Paris Hilton, but it's only okay for her because she's _loaded_. I for one am not on that level. And my wonderful black pleather (I refuse to wear animal skin!) shoes do them no favors. Just imagine a toothpick with two surfboards strapped perpendicular to her ankles. It is not pretty.

My only saving graces are my nails, which we are allowed to paint, and my tweezers, to keep my brows in tip top condition. I inherited my dad's body hair trait... Sadly.

I open my train case that Aunt Sabrina sent me last Christmas. It's full of nail polish, q tips, some compact mirrors, and lip glosses that I don't use. I tried this one lip gloss called "Desert Storm," and it jst feels so off. I never wear makeup, so I feel like I'm doing it wrong. It's so... sticky. Ew. I don't see how girls wear this stuff. Maybe it's because I probably picked it up from the dollar store, but still. I've packed my new eco-friendly organic cotton backpack. Mom thinks it's ugly, but I think it's cute. I mean, yeah, it snaps at the top instead of zips, and its mustard yellow, but hey, it has all natural dyes and wasn't made in some sweatshop in Indonesia. I checked. One problem, though, is that I can't seem to fit my binder in it... And I tore off the tags off the bag a long time ago, much to Mom's dismay. How wonderful. I will manage to make it fit… I just have to angle it properly. This is basic geometry.


	3. September 3, Making it Fit

Still September 3

I've tried every way and which way and nothing is working.

I wonder if Dad is still here or if Mom's kicked him out already. I should go check quietly, because whenever they see me come around they pretend to be two civilized adults who are capable of actually solving their issues without resorting to physical contact. Maybe he'll find a way to make it fit. And by physical contact, I mean Mom throwing a shoebox at him or something. That's happened before.

Nope, he's here. And he's sitting at our dining room table with my Mom. And they're actually talking! Not yelling, not glaring at each other. This is a once in a life time thing here. I don't remember a single moment when they weren't at each other's throats.

I'm definitely not interrupting this. I'll ask him for help later.

[Cue the hold music]

Way to go, Dad. Now the binder fits, but the bag is RIPPED. Right up the side, actually. I don't even... No... It's not even at the seam. How is that even possible?! I can't even use the sewing machine I got for my birthday to try and fix it. My last hope lies in my mother's willingness to take me to the store and buy a new bag...

I tried telling mom about the predicament Dad managed to get me into, and you know what she did? She gently held my face, smiled, looked me deep in the eyes and reminded me that she told me so. Sigh. What am I supposed to do now? I begged her to take me to the store, and she laughed in my face, got up, and went to bed. Well. I thought she loved me. So I guess I'm stuck carrying this stupid bag around tomorrow. And, knowing my mom, at least the rest of the month.

How am I supposed to make a decent first impression on my new teachers and peers carrying around what looks to be a generations old backpack? That would be cool if it actually _was_ vintage, but _everyone_ knows that earthBags just released their limited edition cross body last week.

Well, maybe just me. But still.

I guess it can't be that bad, right? I mean, it definitely gives it character. It makes me look like some sort of bad-ass... Like maybe I fought off a guy who was trying to mug me on the way to school, and he almost stabbed me but missed and sliced my bag and I turned around and beat him to a pulp and dragged his body into an alleyway, New York style.

Or like I have a super hot super buff boyfriend who saved me from my would-be premature death from the top story of my apartment, reaching out at just the last minute in enough time to grab my hand and pull me back, then admitting his heart is completely submerged into a pool of my love before presenting me with a promise ring.

And yes, I am aware that those were two very run-on-ed (runned-on? ran-on? whatever.) sentences. Just let me be.

I wish Drew would save me from my would-be premature death and confess his love to me. My life would be complete. He'd swoop in with his dark, curly hair and push me out of harm's way, grabbing me with his huge hands. Then, he'd stare into me with those dark green eyes, and I'd know that everything would be okay. Then, we'd spend eternity together.

How completely un-feminist of me.

I can't believe I get to see him tomorrow for the first time in _three months_. Three months! I bet he just got hotter, like everyone else supposedly does over summer. He probably got a lot tanner, too. New York sun does that to people.

I bet that no matter how I change during the summer, he's still going to be in love with Arissa. Eckkkkkkkk. I know he has no idea I exist, and I will never ever initiate conversation with him, but still. I could go the rest of my life without seeing him and Arissa making out in front of the school, the same front of the school I am forced to walk by five days a week... It's depressing, really. And Arissa already hates me, so there's that. I could never compete with her. She's like five-foot-six and totally looks like Kelly Kapowski from Saved by the Bell. You know, the supercute one? And Drew is Zach Morris. And Mario Lopez's character. Basically, whoever has Kelly at a given time. It's just not fair. Every guy likes Kelly Kapowski. Except Elaine's brother, James. He thinks she's overrated. But I think he's just trying to be nice and make me feel like less of a loser. That liar.

But she isn't nice like Kelly. She's mean. All the time. And it's not just to me, either, but everyone who isn't popular like her. And I'm the least popular girl in school. I'm not kidding. Nobody knows me. Last year in Algebra, my only class with Drew, _he_ didn't even know who I was until half the year in. And I know, because when he passed out our bi-monthly math test, he stood in front of the class and asked really loudly "Who is Tah-lia?"

Worst. Moment. Ever. That pretty much defined my social ranking for, I don't know, the rest of my LIFE. Now, he knows me as The Girl who Got an 82 percent on Setting Up Equations quiz.

Hmmm, well, my hair does look different, now. I can completely reinvent myself as anyone I want to be.

Meaning I may have a chance with Drew.

Thank you, my wonderful Brazilians, for your amazing hair products.

But forget vanity. I really should try to get to sleep. I've got a bright day ahead of me, supposedly.

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to end these things... Good night? Works for me.


	4. Really, Really late on September 3

Really, Really late on September 3, Possibly September 4

I can't sleep knowing I'm seeing Drew in a few hours. Gaaaaah, my hair must look cute tomorrow. And very Kelly-esque.


	5. Even Later on September 3

Even Later on September 3-Possibly-September-4

Maybe I should look at hairstyles in the magazine I stole from the bathroom yesterday.


	6. Five Minutes Later

Five minutes later

Oh, why are these so complicated? I'm pretty sure I've torn out a good 273 strands just from my bangs.

...

I don't have the skills for this.

Goodnight.

No, really.


	7. September 4, Homeroom

Wednesday, September 4, Homeroom

Well, my plans to look decent failed. Miserably. I even forgot the lip gloss.

So far, no Drew. Sadly. I guess it's alright though, I think the last thing I need is to show off my beautiful-ness that is Talia at 8:13 am. On the first day back. Terribly sleep deprived.

Elaine, however, threw me in for a loop this morning about the hair thing. But not for the reasons I thought she would.

She didn't even notice! And I can say that with a certainty because SHE ISN'T EVEN HERE.

What am I supposed to do?! It's not like I _have_ friends! I was so lost this morning. Good thing I came lateish, otherwise I would have really been lost. And she didn't even call me last night to tell me! I didn't think to call her this morning because my mom just let me sleep in as if today wasn't the most important day of my sophomore year… Why can't she be like those normal suburban moms, you know the ones that wake up their kids in the morning and fix them oatmeal, or something? Why was I stuck with the hands off mother? WHY? Good thing Olli woke me up, otherwise…

Actually, no. If Olli hadn't of woke me up, I'd still be at home. Snoozing. At least me and Elaine would be at home together.

I've gone pretty well so far with the whole ripped bag. No one has asked me about it, so I'm taking that to mean that they heard on the news about The Girl Who Was Saved From The Seventh Floor Of Her Apartment Building and were intimidated that for someone who had been through such trauma they could look as good as I do. I am so strong.

This day is going to be so long.

There's the bell. Today is going to suck.

Hopefully I'm still alive by lunch.


	8. English Class

September 4, English

Okay, so my schedule is as follows:

-Homeroom, 8:05 to 8:20

-English, 8:25 to 9:20

-PE, 9:25 to 10:20

-World History, 10:25 to 11:20

-Lunch, 11:20 to 11:55

-Biology, 12:00 to 12:55

-Academic Honors, 1:00 to 1:55

-Geometry, 2:00 to 2:55

Gosh, how come I never realized last year how short our classes


	9. World History

September 4, World History

Apparently, writing, in English class mind you, is distracting. Okay.

Anyways, as I was saying, I've never realized how short our classes were last year.

BUT PE IS SO LONG. I am traumatized.

I've never ran so much, so fast, in my entire life. It was not fun. All those suicides made me want to commit it. And it was not glamorous like on Mean Girls, either. It was hot, sweaty, and just a mess. Our PE uniforms were not short, tight and cute (not that I'd ever have the confidence to wear short shorts and body hugging shirts out in public), but long, ugly, and unflattering. And how come only at the _end _of class did I realize that DREW IS IN MY PE CLASS. WITH ME. AVEC MOI. Omg. Yeah. I was just standing around the gym, stretching my nonexistent biceps when I saw him checking out some brunette girl with a butt so much bigger than mine. A butt I will never have, with my terrible genetics.

And then the being attached to the big butt turned around and it was ARISSA MULAIGN. Who then completely eyed me out just like Wet Lindsay did in Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging. And then she walked away.

Well, I'm pretty sure Drew didn't notice my new flatter-ish hair because he was too busy sucking Arissa's face and staring at my man-sweat.

I don't understand why life sucks so much.

Now I'm sitting in World History awkwardly angling my journal because my table partner keeps trying to read what I'm writing. Erm...

This class is not fun. I can tell already. The teacher is trying to ask us awful icebreakers in attempt of being friendly. It's extremely awkward. His name is Mr. Donte, only it's not pronounced like Dante. You say it like Dawn-Tee... I know. How unnecessary. He's all red and sweaty and nervous looking. I feel kind of bad for him. Especially because Josh Hatcher is sitting in the front, and he asks way too many questions about everything.

We're making name cards now. Mine says T is for Talia, and Talia is in this cool cursive print. We can only take _so long_ to write our names, though. By the time we finish, it'll be lunchtime I'm sure.

Unless that's his plan... Probably.

Smart.


	10. Later on September 4

Homework

English: Get forms signed

PE: Ditto

World History: 3 paragraphs on Louisiana Purchase, typed, MLA format

Biology: None

Academic Honors: 1 paragraph intro including birthday, family names, where you're from, etc.

Geometry: None

September 4, Home at Last

I can say with absolute certainty that today was a terrible day. I've never been more excited to see my mom in my entire life.

I mean, I may be exaggerating a little. It wasn't too bad, actually.

I ate dry salad for lunch, ranch dressing should not be yellowing, and lemonade. I sat by Kat today, but we didn't talk very much because she was so busy sketching some secret drawing that she wouldn't let me see. That kind of sucked, because I really wanted to see it. Her art is always super good. Last year I remember when she painted me! Even though it really didn't look like me considering my face was all distorted and it all, but still. It was so cool. Like cooler than my attempt at drawing distorted faces would be. I still have it on my wall.

I noticed that despite my tear-inducing (okay, maybe they were from seasonal allergies) speech on the importance of providing adequate lunches for those of us who don't eat meat in front of the entire cafeteria staff and Vice Principal Marshal, Druneston has not made many changes to suit my nutritional needs. I really don't want to eat a salad every day. Elaine said that my speech won't work because the staff doesn't know what else to serve. I guess, but come onnnnn. There are plenty of meat-free lunch entrees.

Things That I Would Rather Eat At Lunch

Bean BurritosHam-free Pasta SaladBlack Bean BurgersQuinoaA PB&JSteamed VegetablesWhite Ranch Dressing with my dry salad3 Bean Chili with soy hamburgerVegetarian Lasagna

See?

Maybe I could start packing my own lunch. That'll show 'em.

Good news: Elaine is in Academic Honors with me! And so is her brother James. I heard Ms. Liams call them during attendance and almost cried. I knew no one else in any of my other classes. Well, except Josh Hatcher, Drew, Arissa, and this one girl Sabrina who was my partner once last year for the science fair. But no one I actually _know_. At least I have comfort knowing that I won't be a total loser every single class.

I have homework on the first day. Can you believe it? Being a sophomore is so hard.

Lucky me for pulling out the Louisiana Purchase when Mr. Donte had us pull assignments from the "historical hat". I totally did a project on it in eighth grade. I'm pretty sure I remember everything.

Louisiana Purchase Notes

Acquisition of territory from FranceEarly 1800s… I thinkSomething about Napoleon…

Hmm…

Google Search: Louisiana Purchase

The Louisiana Purchase (French: _Vente de la Louisiane_ "Sale of Louisiana") was the acquisition by the United States of America in 1803 of 828,000 square miles (2,140,000 km2) of France's claim to the territory of Louisiana. The U.S. paid 50 million francs ($11,250,000) plus cancellation of debts worth 18 million francs ($3,750,000), for a total sum of 15 million dollars (less than 3 cents per acre) for the Louisiana territory ($233 million in 2011 dollars, less than 42 cents per acre).

Source: Wikipedia

See, I remember something…

An Overview of the Louisiana Purchase

By Talia Vinacelli

The Louisiana Purchase, or Vente de la Louisiane as the French called it, was a land acquisition in 1803 by the US of 828,000 square miles of France's territory of Louisiana. The United States bought it for approximately 15 million dollars for the territory, which, in today's money, amounts to around 233 million dollars. In today's money, that's less than 42 cents an acre!

Nononoooo. It sounds so… plagiarized.

I need more research.

The Louisiana territory encompassed all or part of 15 present U.S. states and two Canadian provinces. The land purchased contained all of present-day Arkansas, Missouri, Iowa, Oklahoma, Kansas, and Nebraska; parts of Minnesota that were west of the Mississippi River; most of North Dakota; most of South Dakota; northeastern New Mexico; northern Texas; the portions of Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado east of the Continental Divide; Louisiana west of the Mississippi River, including the city of New Orleans; and small portions of land that would eventually become part of the Canadian provinces of Alberta and Saskatchewan.

France controlled this vast area from 1699 until 1762, the year it gave the territory to its ally Spain. Under Napoleon Bonaparte, France took back the territory in 1800 in the hope of building an empire in North America. A slave revolt in Haiti and an impending war with Britain, however, led France to abandon these plans and sell the entire territory to the United States, who had originally intended only to seek the purchase of New Orleans and its adjacent lands.

The purchase of the territory of Louisiana took place during the presidency of Thomas Jefferson. At the time, the purchase faced domestic opposition because it was thought to be unconstitutional. Although he agreed that the U.S. Constitution did not contain provisions for acquiring territory, Jefferson decided to go ahead with the purchase anyway in order to remove France's presence in the region and to protect both U.S. trade access to the port of New Orleans and free passage on the Mississippi River.

Source: Wikipedia

Never mind, I'll come back to this later.

I don't know what kind of sorcery got me into Academic Honors class. That's normally for the geniuses of Druneston. Geniuses like Elaine, who I still can't believe ditched me without notification. I should call her.

No, I always call her. She should call me. _She _was the one who didn't go to school today. My school year resolution is to be more assertive and less of a pushover. I am not giving up already.

That and wear lip gloss more.

Aww, two failed resolutions on the first day. I am built for failure.


	11. Ms Liams: Introductory Letter

Introductory letter to Ms. Liams: Talia Vinacelli

Dear Ms. Liams,

My name is Talia Vinacelli, and I'm the only child of Sheila Vinacelli and retired soccer player Phineas Troy. In case you were wondering why I have my mother's last name, it's because my parents never married. That and my mother is very anti-patriarchal and finds it ridiculous that society almost forces women to change their names when they marry, which I agree. Although, I really like the name Troy.

I'm not complaining, though. I'm sort of happy they never married, because they have never, ever, ever, ever gotten along in my entire life. At all. I can recall one happy moment between them and that was just yesterday, when I caught them bonding over black coffee.

I was born and bred right here in NYC. I know you just moved here from a small town in Michigan, which is cool because my mom is from there. New York isn't as scary as movies make it seem. Nor is it as glamorous, as I'm sure you found out. Just wash your hands every hour and you'll be fine. Ish.

I'm a vegetarian, something that no one seems to believe. I also consider myself an environmentalist, a humanitarian, and an animal rights activist. As you can probably infer, I stand up for the rights of people, animals, and an environment that cannot speak for itself. Every month, I donate ten dollars to WWF, Greenpeace, and the World Food Programme. I'm pretty dedicated and, at least I think, generous to give seventy-five percent of my monthly income to support these organizations. But, it is a sacrifice I willingly make.

I'm five-foot-ten, which is almost a giantess. And I don't know where I even got it from, my mom is only five six and my dad is only five eleven. Instead of becoming the genetic lottery like my parents were, I have no chest, no butt, and huge feet. I am, nor will I ever be, a graceful dancer like my mother once was, nor will I ever be good at soccer. Or any sport. No, instead, I am not really good at much of anything, not even tying a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue like that girl on Drake and Josh. My best friend Elaine is really good at everything. She's super smart and always has witty comebacks to everything. It's kind of intimidating. To be honest, I'm not sure why I'm in this class. I'm not very smart at all. So I know some teacher recommended me to be in here… I can only hope I do them justice.

Talia Vinacelli


	12. September 5, Homeroom

Thursday, September 5, Homeroom

Staying up late to do my Louisiana Purchase essay was fun.

I ended up calling Elaine (I know, I know, what a pushover), and our conversation went a little something like this:

Mrs. Warren: Hello?

Me: *stammering* Erm, hi Mrs. Warren, this is-

Mrs. Warren: Oh, is this Talia? It's been such a long time! How are you?

Me: Oh, I'm good. How are you?

And it was awkward for the next minute because Mrs. Warren told me all about her day at the lab today and her newest study something about rats and diarrhea. I couldn't really understand all her technical terms because I don't really know much about biology, and both of the Warren's are biologists. Naturally, kids as smart as Elaine and James have super smart parents as well.

Me: That's really exciting, Mrs. Warren, I hope all goes well.

Mrs. Warren: Thank you, dear.

If only Elaine was as nice to me as her parents are.

Then she asked me if I wanted to talk to Elaine, and I said yes, you know because that was really the reason I called, and she very calmly told me to hold on and she practically screamed for Elaine to come to the phone. Eardrums should not have pulses. I think.

Elaine: *yawns* Hello?

Me: Elaine!

Elaine: Yes, it is me.

Me: Where were you today? You can't just abandon me without warning, you know.

Elaine: I don't really think you are supposed to warn the person you're abandoning, actually. But if you must know,

Ugh, I hate when she does that

Elaine: I was sick in bed. I had a fever.

Me: And you couldn't have CALLED ME?

Elaine: Talia, Talia.

Me: Don't 'Talia, Talia' me.

Elaine: I was barely awake for more than a minute when I told my mother that I wasn't going to school.

Me: … Well, still.

And I had no counter for that argument.

Basically, the rest of the conversation was me making her promise she'll be at school today and that in the future she will let me know in the event of her absence. She called me codependent and hung up on me.

She looked just fine this morning for someone who was so sick the day before. I commented on this and she just gave me a weird smile. I don't even want to know what it meant.


	13. History

September 5, World History

Drew bumped into me last period… And he said sorry. Right in front of Arissa. And he smiled at me omgomgomgomg.

I'm not invisible anymore!

YIPEEEEEEEEE!


	14. Academic Honors

September 5, Academic Honors

Ahhhhh. James is in academic honors, too.

Do you know what this means?!

Neither do I. Hahahahaha.

I guess I'm supposed to be reading all the handouts she gave us, but she doesn't really seem to be paying much attention to anything. She's too busy on her Blackberry.

I wish I had a cell phone. I begged Mom for one, but she says that I don't need one because I don't go anywhere. Well gee, thanks. Just another reminder of how unpopular I am. As if I really needed one.

Elaine's working on a student documentary about the evils of capitalism and how it exploits immigrants who already earn less than minimum pay but can't fight it because their voice gets drowned by the system. She's not even doing it for a class, but just for fun. I wish I was tech-y enough to make documentaries. I can barely use Windows Movie Maker. But Elaine is all over this. She's got a stack of textbooks and like three notebooks.

Everybody seems to be doing their work like true Academic Honors students should. Everyone except me, because I'm writing in this journal. At least I look somewhat occupied, unlike this guy named Riley, who is probably still staring at Elaine from the other corner of the room. It's creepy, every time I turn around, I see him just looking at her. I haven't told her yet, partly because I know she's super into her reading and she gets really mad when people interrupt her.

This class is really boring. I'm going to actually read my handouts now.


	15. Geometry

September 5, Geometry

Remember the work I was supposed to be doing in AH? Well, that didn't happen.

I spent the rest of the period talking to James, who was totally trying to irritate Elaine by talking about really controversial and smart sounding things that Elaine always has an opinion on. And she so heard him, and I could see her growing impatient. I didn't even know half of the stuff James was talking about, except equal rights for gay marriages. I think that gay marriage is perfectly acceptable and that people really shouldn't make that big of a deal out of it. I also think the arguments against it are stupid, because if you don't want to "expose your children to alternate lifestyles," I don't think America is the place for you. And especially not New York City, where alternate lifestyles are basically the only lifestyles. I also said that it is extremely discriminatory that in a country where freedom is a virtue that not only are gay marriages acceptable but that civil unions aren't entitled to benefits that heterosexual marriages are! I don't get it. I was really riled over that one, and I even think I scared James a little. I was also going to go further in depth about it until Elaine, who was almost purple by then, took her head out of her book and almost screamed at us to go argue somewhere else. What a party pooper.

Mr. Fareed just told us that we're about to take our Geometry-pretest-slash-Algebra-I-review and to put all notes away. Crap… That means we were supposed to be taking notes. Oh no.


	16. In the Car

September 5, in the car

I was starving when I got home, and when I opened the pantry to make some baked beans or something it was nearly EMPTY. Empty! How am I, being the environmentally-conscious vegetarian that I am, going to survive off of stale tortilla chips and a can of refried beans?

I went into the living room to tell mom we really need to stop at Down to Earth so I don't become malnourished, and I found her sleeping on the couch with a pint of ice cream melting on our side table. She shot up when I sat down, and then, in an attempt to hide the evidence, grabbed the ice cream and the can of soda off the floor and switched off the TV. This is so unlike her… She's so anal about eating in the living room. The last time I ate in the living room, she gave me a full two minute lecture on the already abundant amount of rats and roaches living in NYC and how we needed none of them. Now, look at her attracting being a complete hypocrite.

"How was your day, honey?" she finally managed to ask me. Um….

I told her it was alright, and then asked how was hers and then whether someone died or if Olli ran away (which would absolutely kill me. I was hyperventilating at the thought.)

She said that her day was good, and that she was sorry it was such a mess but my dad is always finding some way to stress her out (typical). I asked her what happened this time, and she told me that my dad's mom, the snootiest woman I've ever met, is considering buying property in the Upper East Side. I asked her why that bothered her, and she said it's because my grandmother is the only other person she can't stand as much as she can't stand my dad.

Harsh.

But I know what she's talking about. The three times she's been in town she never stops complaining about ANYTHING. And she especially hates our apartment and thinks it's "utterly ridiculous" that my mom actually consents living in it, nevermind raising a child in it.

But if she plans on actually moving in NYC, that means I'm going to be seeing a lot of her. Oy.

Now we're in the car heading to Down to Earth. I reminded mom to wear the pretty dangle-y earrings I got her for Christmas, because this one cashier we always get complimented them and gave us an extra discount last time. Those two extra dollars went straight to my savings.

Don't forget

-Tofurky Italian Sausage

-Amy's minestrone soup

-Soy milk

-Coconut water

-Raw fruit bars


End file.
